I guess this is kind of the second half of LW3, but not really, because it has nothing to do with game plot. This chapter’s kind of a mess, but anyway I’m a little closer to the end and that’s all that matters. I mean, Trahearne’s kind of a mess, so it works thematically lol.
Caoilfhionn was listening to Enya again, and also a bunch of Christopher Tin music. (If Christopher Tin were the prime indication of where classical music was going in the 21st century I’d be totally okay with that.) Trahearne, however, has been listening to more Aviators music, even though it doesn’t quite fit as well as Let There Be Fire fit Trahearne during the Orr campaign. But anyway I needed something gloomy, and Tharash reminded me that this existed! Also Fear Not This Night needs more screentime, I miss it ingame.
Contents:
– 1: Cracks
– 2: New Horizons
Part 10: Putting the World Back Together
1: Cracks
He was warm, and naked, and relaxed, and was wrapped around something smooth and slowly breathing, and they were both wrapped up in thick fleshy leaves. He lifted his head and opened his eyes, and was surprised and pleased to find they both worked – though his left eye was blurry, like he’d gotten water in it. Before him, under his nose, were familiar green leaves shot with magenta luminescence, softly lit by diffuse dark green light soaking through the seedpod’s walls. Just over his head, the pod was slowly peeling open, and he could see a gentle blue sky that suggested it was late afternoon.
Trahearne stirred in his arms, and he pressed a kiss to his temple. “Hello, beloved.”
“Caoilfhionn.” Trahearne’s voice was deep and rumbly with sleep, and Caoilfhionn fought back a shiver. “We’re… home…?”
“Yes, we are,” Caoilfhionn said. “How do you feel?”
“I’m alive,” Trahearne said incredulously. “I don’t know how you did it, but you did…” He had been curled up around himself, having been placed into the seedpod first, but he reached up with his left arm and wrapped it around Caoilfhionn, holding him close. His right arm, Caoilfhionn found, was still not full-grown yet. “I’m eternally grateful.”
“I said I would,” Caoilfhionn said, smug in the security of hindsight, and twisted around to kiss him as best he might in the cramped space. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but he had not shared a proper kiss with his love in so long! It was worth it, and he wanted to swoon as their lips joined, though there wasn’t the space to. Trahearne sighed against him and in response his own embrace tightened.
As they shifted, the pod began to split open. Caoilfhionn broke off rather unwillingly and looked up to the open sky once again. Pretty soon the whole pod was going to pop open and deposit them unceremoniously on a branch, so they might as well get out with what dignity they could. “Shall we?” Though he was distracted by Trahearne taking advantage of his glance upwards to kiss his throat, eliciting a moan. “Ah, we really ought to-”
It was a bit awkward, when he hadn’t used his body in… some unknown period of time, to clamber out around Trahearne, then turn to give him a hand as well. Trahearne stood with creaky, stiff arms and legs, but his body was no longer corrupted and hardened. His leafy skin was a little rougher in those places, a change felt rather than seen, and his regrowing arm looked strange, almost skeletal. But visually he looked nearly good as new, with vibrant dark green skin and yellow eyes just as he ever had, and Caoilfhionn stared at him adoringly.
“That bad, huh?” Trahearne asked as he caught his gaze. Caoilfhionn felt his luminescence flush, though now in the sunlight it would be impossible to see.
“No! No. You’re beautiful.”
Trahearne looked away with embarrassment. “That you can still say such things…”
They were interrupted by a hail. “Firstborn! Valiant!” They turned, still holding hands, to see Mender Serimon himself making his way towards them, with a couple assistants. “Glad I am to see you awake once more.”
“How long did we sleep?” Trahearne. “When was Mordremoth defeated?”
“Nigh on nine months,” Serimon said. “How do you feel? I’d like to check you over, if you would permit it. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Clothes?” Caoilfhionn asked, smiling. “Send word to Blathnat, if you would.”
“And news,” Trahearne said. “I know the world will not have been sitting still after Mordremoth’s death.”
“You’re quite right,” Serimon said, his assistants giving them both a hand to descend the Tree. “But I think it would be good for you to remain here a few days more to get your bearings before getting involved. Especially you, Trahearne.”
“Mm.” Trahearne grimaced and glanced at his right arm. “Well, they’ve been doing all right without us, they can survive a little longer.”
Caoilfhionn laughed, partly amused by Trahearne’s cavalier attitude, partly simply for the delight of laughing. “I’m glad you’re back.”
Trahearne’s arm needed more than a few days to come to full maturity. Physically in all other respects, he was fine, but Mender Serimon cautioned him against trying to engage in combat before it was ready, to avoid having to keep relearning his body. Trahearne acquiesced and did not at all seem opposed to living without responsibilities for a while longer, which pleased Caoilfhionn.
They stayed in Trahearne’s hut in the domestic area, a corner of a small cave-tunnel that led to a west-facing balcony on the outer edge of the Grove. He had not stayed there much over the years, occupied as he was with traveling and with Orr, but it was his own, and it was a good retreat now. Trahearne asked Cathaoir to come guard the entrance, though, to screen visitors; he didn’t feel like speaking to many people all at once yet. And the visitors mostly understood. They were only really visited at first by Eithne and Blathnat, and Malomedies and Dagonet, and of course Mender Serimon.
They were able to spend much time alone together, too, and though Caoilfhionn wanted to get out and about more, he was blissfully happy to be able to hold his love safe and sound at last, to lie beside him in comfortable repose, to look out over the balcony with him, smelling the wind, to take his face in his hands and plant kisses all over it, running his thumbs over the thicker bark strips. And Trahearne returned his smiles, his embraces, his kisses, with a kind of disbelieving adoration that thrilled him even as he sought to make him believe it.
And he was just happy to be back home, after so much time spent away, to learn anew its winding ways, its spilling flowers, the brightly coloured birds that cried and flew through the open spaces. There was time now to see and appreciate the little things, not presently having to run through on one urgent mission or another. Mordremoth was dead, and the Sylvari were making the most of their new collective life, and the world went on day by day in its beauty and sorrow and joy. He felt brand new again. Which was most welcome after the weariness that fighting Mordremoth had wrought upon him. He tried not to think about those times, throwing himself into the present instead.
Caithe came to visit soon after they came to their new home, and she brought news and more news: of the guild becoming Dragon’s Watch – Caoilfhionn huffed for a few minutes but quickly accepted it – of Aurene’s birth, of Caudecus’s death. And she brought a message from General Almorra. “Do you wish to return to your position as Marshal?”
Trahearne thought in silence for a long moment. “No. Even if I am ever fit to serve again, my time as Marshal is over. My mistakes cost us all too much. And I… I don’t think I am capable of doing what I did then. Not anymore.”
Caithe nodded. “I thought you’d refuse. So did Annhilda. I’m glad, personally.”
“Glad?” Trahearne frowned.
“You did well in it,” Caithe said. “You were admirable, a shining example to Tyria. The best you could be. But I know you were always happiest in research.”
Trahearne relaxed again. “Yes. That is true. Though… now that my horizons have been expanded… well. I must get better first.”
Physically, Caoilfhionn was a little better off than his love. His leaves had grown back, just as lush as before, and his scars from where Mordremoth had torn at his flesh were nearly completely grown over. Though Trahearne still paused at them when he ran his hands over his body… But his left eye was not nearly as strong as it had been, and it took some time to find a jeweler who was experienced in making eye-glasses, which he’d seen with some frequency on Humans and Asura but only very rarely on his own people.
He was a little anxious when he first put them on. To be sure, it was marvelous, to be able to see as well as he used to, clear and detailed. But – wouldn’t he look funny, with these round silver things on his face? “How do I look?”
“Looks great,” said the Human jeweler. “Do you not like them?”
Trahearne smiled. “Can you see?”
“I can see very well now. But does it look strange?”
“You’re beautiful,” Trahearne said to him soothingly, and his expression told Caoilfhionn that his opinion was true, far from being a white lie. Caoilfhionn grinned at him and was rewarded by a smile in turn.
“Then I am content. Thank you, sir.”
And now he, at least, could begin to get back into elementalism without worrying that his sight would betray him and accidentally send a fireball to places it wasn’t supposed to go. Trahearne watched him on the practice field – actually, many people watched him on the practice field, his fighting style was different from most other elementalists with his sword in his hand.
“That’s different,” Trahearne said, the first time he saw it. “You never fought with a sword before.”
Caoilfhionn looked down at his long curved blade. “Malyck bore it. I came across him in the Heart of Maguuma… He… is gone now. But I will carry his memory with me always.”
Trahearne put a hand on his shoulder, silently sympathetic to his lingering grief. “…I remember Malyck,” he said softly after a while. “I wish things had been different.”
“Thank you. But yes.” Caoilfhionn raised his head and managed to smile again; it was easier when he could see Trahearne’s thoughtful eyes. “I have found my skills moved in new and interesting ways by this weapon. I would like to study it properly now that I have the time.”
“May I help?”
“Of course!” Even had he not already wished Trahearne to be more involved in his life, he was not going to turn down the offer of nearly thirty years of magical experience!
Those idyllic autumn days passed swiftly, and they delighted in each other’s company as they had not been able to do in the waking world for a year, yet there was something between them, Caoilfhionn felt. But he could not detect what it was, only that Trahearne seemed still withdrawn and dark when his attention was not inclined towards Caoilfhionn, and he slept ill. So he cherished the times when the darkness was not there, when he could hold Trahearne’s wounded heart in his hands and breathe life into it with his unfailing love.
But it only got worse, not better, and rapidly, after those first couple weeks. Trahearne’s temper was short, much more than usual, and as the days passed he spent more and more time brooding. He pulled back from Caoilfhionn, from the embraces, from the kisses, from making love, even from conversation, and Caoilfhionn’s heart bled, for what else could he offer?
“What’s wrong?” Caoilfhionn asked eventually, softly.
“Nothing,” Trahearne said, yet there was unwonted irritation in his voice. He gentled voice and gaze with an effort. “Sorry. I am… fine.”
He thought it would pass, then, Caoilfhionn reasoned, and nodded mildly and dropped the subject.
But it did not pass. The only time he could hold Trahearne now with all his love was when he writhed in nightmares, waking soaked in sweat and tears, helpless against Caoilfhionn’s arms. Caoilfhionn’s own dreams seemed unimportant in comparison to whatever horrors Trahearne was reliving; he dreamed of searching, always searching, never finding – or sometimes finding a vine-riddled body. Trahearne would not speak of what he saw, only burying his face in Caoilfhionn’s shoulder, and he cursed Mordremoth in his head for reducing the greatest of the Sylvari to this.
He didn’t know what was going on. He would have given his own arm to take away Trahearne’s suffering now – why could it not be over? It controlled every part of his life and Caoilfhionn was helpless to break him free.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked another time, during the daylight.
“What do you mean?” Trahearne asked sharply.
Caoilfhionn dithered for a moment. Trahearne was sensitive to his current weakness. “Only that… you seemed… out of sorts, often, and I wish to make you happy.”
Trahearne looked away almost guiltily. “Are you happy?”
“I’m always happy to be with you. But I’d be happier if I could make you happy.”
“Don’t worry so much about me,” Trahearne said quietly. “Just be as happy as you can. I like when you are.”
“All right,” Caoilfhionn said in confusion.
But Trahearne would not previously have lost control of his temper in the little places he now did – even going so far as to shout angrily at Mender Serimon over being told not to over-exercise his new limb, for instance. Trahearne had been infallibly courteous and noble, even when he was furious. The iciness of his former anger had dissolved into an unpredictable maelstrom, striking at unexpected times. Trahearne was not happy like this, hated how he could not control himself, hated that he hurt everyone around him when he lashed out. He hadn’t said so in words, but it was obvious!
And the more it happened, the more he brooded and the less he spoke of facing life at Caoilfhionn’s side. The space between them widened and he could not bridge it, not with all his love and patience and hope. “Why am I still alive?” his love whispered when he thought Caoilfhionn wasn’t listening, and his tone was not that of wonder.
Days passed, the visitors dwindled even from the small number they had been before, and Caoilfhionn went out into the Grove alone now. And it was becoming more difficult for him, too, not to be weighed down by his own memories, everything he’d gone through, all the trials and failures he bore. But he tried to swallow them, for Trahearne needed him to be strong. Trahearne had been strong for him, always but especially when it mattered most. He needed to return it now.
He knew it was time to confront it when Trahearne raised his voice to Blathnat, who might have been a teasing and prideful person but who had never hurt anyone a day in her life, and she fled – to cry, Caoilfhionn was sure. Trahearne went out to the balcony and sat on the bench in a miserable huddle, and Caoilfhionn stayed inside, trying to control his breathing, of distress and defensive anger and worried grief. That couldn’t be Trahearne’s fault. Getting upset at him would only make things worse.
After about half an hour, he went out to the balcony and knelt on one knee next to Trahearne’s seat, waiting patiently for him to talk about it.
“…You should have let me die,” Trahearne said after an interminable period of staring into the distance. He was no longer huddled tightly, but his body was… collapsed, in an upright position. Hopeless. Despairing.
“Forgive me,” Caoilfhionn whispered. “I am the most selfish.”
“I’m broken,” Trahearne rasped. “My mind is not entirely my own. Mordremoth may be dead but you should have killed me along with him.”
Caoilfhionn had to breathe before he answered. “I couldn’t. I need you.”
“Is that why you manipulated me into living?” Trahearne said sharply. Then, even as Caoilfhionn inhaled with hurt, turned his head away with a half-sob. “No, no. I cannot blame you. But who I was is already dead. I am not that man anymore.”
Caoilfhionn waited. He didn’t know what to say. Perhaps he had coerced Trahearne, gambling his life against Trahearne’s love, that was one point of view. He was selfish, through and through. But he couldn’t help it.
“You should go,” Trahearne said softly. “Go live your life. I am only an anchor holding you back.”
Instead of leaving, Caoilfhionn rose and sat on the bench next to Trahearne. “I don’t want to. Please talk to me. I’ll not be put off until you do.”
Trahearne turned his face away, and Caoilfhionn heard him swallow. “Stop.”
“No. Talk to me, beloved. Please.” He put his hand next to Trahearne’s, almost touching but not quite.
Trahearne took his hand and gripped it tightly, and slowly, the words began to come. “I… can’t find myself. I am… impatient. Angry. And I can’t seem to stop myself. It was easy, before, to control myself, to consider… the people around me. Now it’s almost… impossible. Something is missing, broken, ripped away from me. I keep hurting everyone and… I don’t know why.”
Caoilfhionn squeezed his hand and kept listening.
“And I am… useless to everyone now… I cannot fight, with my arm like this, and while I may again eventually… I cannot focus. I cannot focus or control myself and so I cannot trust myself. If I were to seclude myself, perhaps I could… I could at least be certain I wouldn’t hurt anyone, yet… I think I would go mad. I have too much time to think and yet what else can I do right now? But more than that… I… know Mordremoth… is dead. Yet… I still hear… an… an echo.” Trahearne’s voice was almost inaudible, shaking… scared. “It’s not him. But it calls to me still.”
Caoilfhionn climbed into Trahearne’s lap and took his face in his hands. “I understand-”
“No, you don’t,” Trahearne cut him off, worry and anger sparking in his eyes. “How could you?”
“I understand because my love is yours and your love is mine,” Caoilfhionn retorted gently, unafraid. “At the very least, I understand why you’ve been pushing me away. So tell me now: what can I do? Have I been trying too hard? I will give you all the space you need to rediscover yourself but you are not and will never be alone. So stop trying to run from me.”
“You should not waste yourself on me. I’m trying to be strong for you but I can’t and I am ashamed to take your pity for my weakness.”
“Love is not pity.” Caoilfhionn squeezed his face a little, making him look up at him. “Do you want me to be angry at you?”
“Perhaps…”
He wasn’t giving him any excuses like that. “I don’t care how long it takes, how many failures we must endure. If our positions were reversed, would you give up on me?”
“No,” Trahearne said, almost indignantly. “But you are light and life and joy. I am-”
“And so are you to me,” Caoilfhionn said. “Oh my scholar, I did not go through hell and back to abandon you just because you are wounded in ways no one understands. I know you are still in pain and you struggle daily. But let me help. You cannot leave me here alone. I know I am the most selfish person in the world but I love you and I will help you live again.”
Trahearne was silent, staring at him.
“Do you hear me?” Caoilfhionn asked softly.
Trahearne’s arms closed about him and held him close. “I hear you.”
Caoilfhionn smiled, and his sap ran fast. “Then let us be patient together. You’re too young to write yourself off forever.”
Trahearne snorted, a snort that turned into a proper laugh. “I am, am I not? But what are you, five summers?”
“Four and a half,” Caoilfhionn said, soul flying on that laugh. Trahearne pulled him in and kissed him and he felt as breathless as his first kiss, for he felt the soul in his arms begin to lift from despair again – at least momentarily distracted by the hope he carried bare in his own.
2: New Horizons
“Are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” Damara whispered, looking at the gigantic looming statue. “Hey, didn’t we see a statue like this in that underwater temple thing on Orr?”
“Yeah, exactly,” Annhilda said, striding into the foyer of Special Collections under the Priory. “Do you remember who it was?”
“Abbadon,” Damara said. “…How did the Priory get such a big statue of a god erased from history?”
“That’s what the Priory does,” Annhilda said, smiling. “We find the lost and forgotten, and preserve it. Do you remember why he was erased from history?”
“Uh… I know Kormir replaced him. I imagine you want to tell me the rest of the story, though I don’t see why you had to sneak me into the Priory… Seriously, I don’t want Gixx to yell at us.”
“Gixx won’t yell at us,” Annhilda said confidently. “He’s too busy. And if he does… Do you know how many times our friend Sieran got yelled at? It’s not a big deal. Ogden will find it hilarious, if anything. The person you have to watch out for is Archivist Ernswort. And she’s further in. Just stop fidgeting and no one will care.”
Damara sighed. “Okay. So, the story?”
“Abbadon was once great among the gods,” Annhilda said, her tone shifting to a poetic one, like a skaald – not that Damara had really had the chance to hear skaalds a lot. “He granted magic to Humans. But power brought strife, and the other gods intervened to try to bring peace. Abbadon tried to protect his followers, and brought war even to the gods. So the gods cast him out and bound him in the Realm of Torment. But still he tried to break free, until about two hundred fifty years ago Spearmarshal Kormir and her companions destroyed his fallen remnants, and she took his power to become the Goddess of Truth.”
“Okay, that all sounds vaguely familiar,” Damara said, still staring at the disturbing, six-eyed statue. “And why did you bring me all this way to tell me about it?”
“What do you see when you look at this statue?” Annhilda asked.
Damara frowned. “Um… Well, he was a god, when this statue was made, so I guess… a god?”
“Yes. But he isn’t one now, is he?”
Damara gave Annhilda an arch look. “You’re trying to say something about Balthazar, aren’t you.”
“Took you long enough,” Annhilda said, teasing, then sobered. “I don’t mean to mock your gods. But given what we saw what he was doing inside Draconis Mons, what he said there, I think the likelihood is high that we’re not dealing with a proper member of the Six. Not anymore.”
“Yeah, he was not friendly at all,” Damara said. “So… we should start thinking about who’s going to replace him. I hope it’s not me, I have no affinity for war or fire. I’m a Melandru girl!”
“Well, I don’t think it’s going to be Marjory or Kasmeer either,” Annhilda said, “and they’re the only other humans in our group. But that’s fine – I’d hate to lose any of you.”
Damara suddenly giggled. “You know who would make a good god of war? Rytlock.”
Annhilda laughed loudly, causing a chorus of shushings to come from further in the archives. “He’s not even Human! You’re not wrong, though.”
Damara looked up at the statue one more time. “Well. He is doing whatever he wants without any apparent care for Humanity. Or even the world. He probably wouldn’t even listen to the other gods long enough to slow down. And we have to stop him?”
“Unfortunately. We can’t let him kill the Dragons.” Annhilda breathed out a noisy sigh. “Just when we were getting good at that, too.”
“That’s a joke, right? We barely got Mordremoth.”
“Yes, that’s a joke. Come on, let’s see if Seimur’s around to make fun of.”
Caoilfhionn was in Astorea, helping saplings with their first curious steps outside the Grove, when he was hailed unexpectedly from down the road. “Cauliflower!”
“Wegaff!” Caoilfhionn exclaimed, delighted. “How are you? It’s been so long!”
“You look a lot better,” Wegaff said. “What are you doing with your flux fields?”
“Er…” Caoilfhionn looked at his sword. “I’m not sure yet. But it appears to be working.”
“Fascinating…” Wegaff began, then shook himself. “No, no, no! Time for that later. I wanted to see if you were up for hearing vitally important news about the fate of the world.”
Caoilfhionn perked up – and caught himself. “Well… I am.” He glanced over at Trahearne, who was sitting by himself, trying to blend into the background and remain anonymous. “How worrisome is this news?”
“Very,” Wegaff said. “Do you want it or not?”
Caoilfhionn still hesitated… then took the plunge. He could always decide not to tell Trahearne and preserve him from it a while longer. Or maybe it would distract Trahearne from his ongoing problems. “Tell me.”
“Okay, do you remember when I theorized to you that killing the Elder Dragons wasn’t the right thing to do?”
“Vaguely,” Caoilfhionn said. “I think I was a bit distracted at the time.”
“Possibly. We were going into your mysterious cave after Caithe and the dragon egg. Well, it turns out that I was right.”
“In what way?” Caoilfhionn sat down on the grass and got comfortable.
“The Eternal Alchemy really is a giant machine, as you saw it, with Tyria and the Dragons – and having killed two, we’ve thrown the machine out of synchronization. Killing any more could destroy the whole machine – that is, the world. Taimi found a new source of data that confirms it.”
Caoilfhionn blinked. “That’s… unfortunate. But what were we supposed to do?” If they had not killed Zhaitan, Lion’s Arch would be assaulted by the Risen until it fell. If they had not killed Mordremoth, the Sylvari would be eternally under the threat of slavery – especially Trahearne.
“We haven’t figured that part out yet,” Wegaff said. “Right now, Dragon’s Watch is still working on identifying the problem, let alone the solution. Which is complicated by Balthazar sticking his spoke in.”
“Balthazar? What would a Human god want with a Dragon?”
Wegaff explained, in detail, and at length, and Caoilfhionn took some time to mull over what his friend had said. “So… Balthazar wants the power of Dragons, but removing any more Dragons could destroy the entire world. What does that mean for us?”
“It means we gotta stop him while he’s still weak enough to be hurt, to put it bluntly,” Wegaff said. “And he’s only got two choices. Primordus and Jormag are out of reach right now, so it’s either going to be Kralkatorrik or the ocean Dragon. And according to my calculations, Kralkatorrik is the most likely target. So: I’m going recommend Dragon’s Watch expedite themselves to Elona to make sure the two of them never meet, one way or another.”
“Will you be coming?” Caoilfhionn asked. “Er. Going. I haven’t said I’m going yet. I’ll have to talk with Trahearne.”
“Why, what’s his problem?” Wegaff said bluntly, and Caoilfhionn restrained an eyeroll. “Yes, I’m strongly considering it. How am I going to figure out how to tell you how to beat this strange arcane being if I never get the chance to study him?”
“Right,” Caoilfhionn said, smiling. “That’s certainly tempting. But Trahearne’s recovery has been slow, and I don’t want to leave him alone.”
“Were you going somewhere?” Trahearne’s voice came from behind him, and Caoilfhionn looked up at him with wide eyes. “Hello, Wegaff. What’s the news?”
“I’m sure Caoilfhionn can summarize in a way you can understand,” Wegaff said, which made Caoilfhionn frown skeptically at him – Trahearne was far more intelligent than Caoilfhionn was, at least he thought so! “I already disseminated my information.”
“The important thing is: the Human god Balthazar wants to kill the remaining Dragons, and take their power for his own,” Caoilfhionn said. “And we’re not so sure that killing any of the Dragons is a good idea.”
Trahearne was very still, showing impressive self-control given his current instability. “Mordremoth had to die.” But he was growling, ready to blow up.
“Yes,” Caoilfhionn said, remaining steady. “The other Dragons may enthrall and subdue but none of them enslaved the way that Mordremoth did. Our entire race was in danger in a way no one else was or is.”
“I guess you have a point,” Wegaff said, though reluctantly. “It’s made everything we do now a lot more delicate, though.”
“Are you saying-” Trahearne began, with flashing eyes, and Caoilfhionn grabbed his arm.
“Wegaff, do you remember what I said to you at the time you first told me that killing the Dragons might be bad?” he asked.
“Of course,” Wegaff said. “You said we might use the baby dragon to replace one of the Elder Dragons. The immense amount of time that would take – which we don’t have – aside, I will admit you might be on to something. But we don’t have ten thousand years.”
Trahearne let out a deep breath, allowing himself to be drawn back to the topic at hand and not to take umbrage over his decisions of the past five years. “So I suppose you’ll be going to stop Balthazar.”
“I haven’t decided yet,” Caoilfhionn said. “I know Hope’s – Dragon’s Watch would benefit from my presence. But Balthazar is likely going to Elona, and that’s a very long way away…”
“Weeks, by ship, many days even by airship,” Trahearne said. Had he traveled there in his past, too? “I’ll miss you.”
“But-”
“You’re ready to go,” Trahearne said, taking his hand and standing, leading him away from Wegaff, from Astorea. “You are healed, body and soul. I am not. That is just the way it is. I don’t want to…” He cut off.
“Hold me back?” Caoilfhionn said softly. “You are not. You could not.”
“I certainly can,” Trahearne said. “It does not escape me that you are restless. You are happy to be in the Grove, happy to… be with me, but you are burning to join the action, wherever it may be.”
Caoilfhionn lowered his gaze. He’d thought he’d disguised it well, even from himself. He did not want to leave Trahearne behind.
“This is your chance,” Trahearne whispered. “Take it. Do not worry for me.” His mouth twisted. “I will be well cared for even in your absence. Like an infant.”
Caoilfhionn squeezed his hand. “You’ll be coming after me, won’t you?”
Trahearne looked surprised. “I… Yes. I suppose I have nothing better to do.”
“Then… then I think I could go. If you’re sure.” He hesitated. “Do you want me to stay.”
Trahearne glared at him. “Don’t ask me that. Go have adventures.”
Which mean he wanted him to say and was afraid to say so out loud because Caoilfhionn would stay. His eyes told the truth, and Caoilfhionn was caught.
Trahearne huffed. “Go, dammit. Stop hovering over me.”
“Only if you kiss me,” Caoilfhionn said, trying to break his sour shell.
It worked; Trahearne leaned in, his whole demeanour melting into contrite adoration, and Caoilfhionn returned both embrace and kiss with shameless passion.
Wegaff was pointedly looking at his pocket device when they walked back to him. “So are you going or not?”
“I’m going, and Trahearne will come later,” Caoilfhionn said, smiling. He intended to milk as many kisses as he could out of the preparatory time, though, first. “I’ll be ready in a couple days.”
“The sooner the better,” Wegaff said. “I’ll start asking around about transport while you do… whatever it is you’re doing.”
Trahearne squeezed his hand. “This is the right thing to do.”
Caoilfhionn squeezed it back. “I won’t be gone from you long. Come to me as soon as you can.”
Caoilfhionn had been gone a week. Trahearne sat alone in his room, waiting. For what, he did not know. It wasn’t like he would simply magically recover, yet fighting to heal seemed pointless. His first blush of gratitude and joy at being alive had worn off long ago. He’d fought so hard to survive long enough for Caoilfhionn to come for him, to live for the one he loved, believing that he could rescue him – and he had! Oh most beautiful of beings, knight of knights, the fiery sword that pierced all darkness, Caoilfhionn – but was it worth it?
It wasn’t, whispered the feelings in his head. What can you offer him, broken as you are? What use are you to him or to anyone? Better to have succumbed and let him kill you. It would have been a merciful death. And he would be free.
He sat motionless, eyes distant, contemplating the truth inside him. His thoughts wound their way along mazey paths, scattered and disoriented. It was so difficult to think straight, even without the echo in the back of his mind; he was tired of his ineptitude, his weakness – it had been so easy for him before! He knew intellectually what was wrong with him and that did not stop him from feeling ashamed and despairing. No amount of rest would fix it. And maybe that was most of his problem. How did one overcome the insurmountable?
He had been glad when Caoilfhionn left. His love was never more beautiful than when he had a cause to fight for, a goal to hope for, and he was more powerful than ever. He would save the world, again and again, and Trahearne was happy for him. Better than he be out there, shining for all, than closed away, wasting himself on Trahearne’s wounds. He was almost sickeningly jealous of him, how he’d come through the deep jungle seemingly unchanged. Yet now that he was gone, Trahearne yearned for him as if his heart were already broken. He craved his love and affection and support, useless though it might be. Caoilfhionn mocked himself and called himself selfish, and perhaps he was, demanding mercilessly that Trahearne slog back in the vague direction of life, but Trahearne wanted to be selfish too and keep Caoilfhionn all to himself-
Like Mordremoth? It wanted the Sylvari all to itself. No, Mordremoth was dead- His body shuddered as he remembered, unwillingly. Those whispers, murmurs, shouts, clawing at his mind, gouging pieces of it away, bit by bit, and he hung, helpless, until he passed out from the sheer pressure. Day after day – only a few days but long enough… Blessed Source, it had been unimaginable torture. Mordremoth had not managed to crack his sense of self, his defiance – but it’d taken everything else, his intellect, his body, nearly his will…
He didn’t remember it clearly with his waking mind, which was one small blessing, even if he could not turn away from it – half-remembered horror following him wherever he went. Stirrings of something that were not his own thoughts, threading through his already scattered thoughts insidiously – like vines, and he shivered again with fear and anger. His thoughts wandered in circles aimlessly, rolling around the nightmare they were trapped in. Nightmare… he was afraid to sleep, especially without Caoilfhionn beside him, afraid to drown himself in powerless torment. Sleep brought no rest to him.
What are you waiting for? He couldn’t tell whose words they were, if they were echoes of a dragon or his own reproachful guilt. You should be getting up and doing. Sitting here is useless, just like you. But you can’t, can you. No wonder they pity you.
He reach out and knocked over the table. It thumped on the soft earthen floor.
The violent action had not sated him and in sudden fury he seized his focus and blasted death magic at the overturned table, smashing it to smithereens. It was still not enough, and he flung himself through his small home, flinging magic at shelves, the chairs, even the bookshelves, even the chest where Caladbolg lay hidden, as broken as he. Who cared!? Nothing mattered-
“Trahearne!” He stopped at the cry, just before he’d gone to do something self-harmful like punch the rocky wall. He was breathing hard. His house was a mess of torn leaves.
It was Malomedies, standing at the door, looking patiently at him. He hated that look. Hated to feel that he was an invalid – but he was – but he shouldn’t have been- “Brother. Put down the focus.”
Trahearne dropped it and turned away. “What can I do for you?”
“You can stop pushing everyone away,” Malomedies said softly. “You prideful fool, my brother, why do you hide from us?”
Trahearne whirled, shaking with anger. “Why!? Why do you insist on subjecting yourself to me?”
“Fool,” Malomedies said again, gently. “When I returned from my abduction and torment, you never gave up on me. How then should I give up on you?”
“They couldn’t touch your mind,” Trahearne said. “Not like- I can’t-” He suddenly fell to his knees and found he was weeping. Where was his self-control? He should never have shouted at his brother – he remembered all that – Malomedies was right. His brother had been physically beautiful until the Asura had stripped his health from him, but his mind had gone through that suffering and come out more gentle, more beautiful. Why could he not do the same!?
As if to prove his point, Malomedies knelt beside him and embraced him. “You don’t understand, Trahearne. I thought Caoilfhionn might have taught you, but it seems you still don’t know. You hurt us more by insisting on bearing your hurts alone. Always, you have done this, for Orr, for Zhaitan, and now. Stop, dear one. Your nobility does not come from suffering in silence until you shatter.”
“I… I…”
“When you were strong, you found more strength in others to buoy you up when times were difficult. There is no shame in finding strength in others now while you are weak. You hate to feel helpless, I know – we all do. But your pride will only make things worse.”
“I may never recover,” Trahearne rasped. “What if you are wasting your time?”
“What if we aren’t?” Malomedies retorted. “And let me inform you immediately that if you don’t agree to move into my house while Caoilfhionn is away, I will be moving into yours. Now that you’ve sent away the first person that you trust. Fool of a Sylvari.”
“All right,” Trahearne said, and almost smiled. “If that’s what you wish.”
He went to see the Pale Tree. Malomedies must have spoken to her. He’d seen her briefly when they’d first come out of the seedpod, but since then he’d stayed away. She had been wounded too, and he had dared not burden her with his small problems.
But Malomedies had told her, it seemed, and told him that his problems were never too small to bring before her… An advantage of being a Firstborn, perhaps, or at least of being dear to the Tree. Which would have made him feel guilty if he were capable of taking on even more guilt. But she had sent for him, and he could not refuse this time.
He came before her avatar in the Omphalos Chamber, and knelt before her. “I am here, Mother.”
“Ah, Trahearne… I am sorry I could not help more.”
“You healed my body,” he said. “That is enough.”
She raised him to his feet with a gesture. “It is not. You are not acting yourself. You are unwontedly destructive. You must try to be good, my son.”
“What do you want me to do!?” he cried angrily. “Do you think I have not been trying? Don’t tell me what to do.” He put a hand to his head. “I do not want to leave the Dream but I scarce feel myself part of it anymore. How can I be good – how can I be your son when I cannot-”
“You will never not be my son,” she said to him sorrowfully, and he looked away with self-reproach gnawing at him. “Even were you to fall to Nightmare, I would still love you. But that is why I blame myself. If I could fix it, you would not have to…”
“No one can,” he said shortly. The Dream was powerful, the Pale Tree was powerful, yet magic did not solve everything. “If I had been stronger…”
“No one else could have been stronger than you,” the Pale Tree said to him. “No one except maybe Caoilfhionn, who dared the impossible, for love… The two of you need each other.”
“Mother…” He slumped to his knees. “I cannot live up to your ideals right now, with Caoilfhionn or without. …Please…” It was difficult to say. “Help me. Perhaps I… am ready to… try in a different way… if you can be patient with me. If… please just don’t… don’t push me so hard.” Could she be patient with him, when he was not patient with himself?
She knelt beside him. “I… am learning, the same as you… I will try my best. Lay your head in my lap, my dear son.” And as he did, she stroked his brow with a semi-corporeal hand and began to sing. “Fear not this night, you will not go astray. Though shadows fall, still the stars find their way…”
The familiar melody washed over him and it quelled his doubts, his meandering mind. For how long, he didn’t know. But he was grateful for the respite.
Damara walked into the market of Amnoon with Betty, her devourer, clinging to her backpack, and stared around in fascination. Her mom had been from Vabbi originally, before… escaping – she never spoke of that much. But she had spoken of Amnoon! Its beautiful pyramids, its endless markets, its well-trained raptors, its multitudes of people. But she’d felt it still too close to whatever she was running from, and set out for Lion’s Arch and then Divinity’s Reach, where she’d met a Krytan man with lovely dark eyes and… they’d been taken away by sickness when Damara was fourteen.
She blinked away sudden tears and tried to focus on the city around her, not her recollections of her mother’s recollections. And her gaze fell upon a man in local clothing, bantering with an Asura… but very fashional local clothing… and his stance was really familiar… and the sword at his side… and he was blue-skinned- “Caoilfhionn!?”
Caoilfhionn and Wegaff turned, and Caoilfhionn grinned. He was wearing glasses!? And a white short robe with loose sleeves and brightly-coloured red sashes, and a long violet vest, and loose pants, and a local-style head covering. No wonder she hadn’t recognized him at first. “Hello, Damara! You made it!”
“What in the name of the Six are you two doing here?” she exclaimed. “Why are you dressed like that? Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you, Caoilfhionn! How are you? How is Trahearne?” She flung herself at him to hug him tightly and he returned it with a startled grunt, awkwardly trying not to grab Betty.
He laughed breathlessly. “Can I answer one question at a time? I’m well, thank you. Trahearne is… recovering, but he insisted that I come when Wegaff told me his plans.”
“Wegaff didn’t tell us he talked to you,” Damara objected.
“I guess I forgot,” Wegaff said. “But anyway, Annhilda’s my guild leader… not my professor.”
“Glad to know where we stand in your estimation,” Caoilfhionn said, teasing. “We’ve only been here a week, trying to learn as much as we could for when you arrived. Wegaff knew you’d be along eventually.”
“Took you longer than I expected,” Wegaff said.
“We’d have been faster if you told us where you were,” Damara complained. “You came by boat? Did you get the clothes here?”
“No, Blathnat’s done her research.” He smiled proudly. “I don’t think the locals know what to make of it. I’m not sure most of them have seen a Sylvari before – except around the casino, where Canach has been loitering. But yes, I came by boat. Is it my turn for questions yet?”
“Ask away,” Damara said, hooking her arm through his and steering him in the direction she knew Annhilda, Rytlock, and Kasmeer still were, figuring Wegaff would follow if he wanted to. “Come see the others, too. Oh, it’s good to see you again! I’m glad you’re well enough to help us kick Balthazar’s behind.”
“I’m looking forward to it!”
Part 12: Who We Are